Hardwired Humbug
by DeerstalkerDeathFrisbee
Summary: Tony Stark does not say things like humbug (at least not in public). He's just the least festive person on the planet. Possibly ever. But 1 Christmas Eve, several ghosts and a whole team of Avengers might change that. Or end in explosions. Lots of explosions. Red and gold are festive colors, right? A Christmas Carol AU.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: Dead is a Relative Term**

Howard Stark was dead to begin with. I mean dead-dead. Definitely, positively, and absolutely dead. Completely and utterly. I promise this will be important later, you just need to know, here and now, that Howard Stark was definitely dead.

Where was I?

Oh, yeah, Howard Stark. Dead. No, really, this is a Christmas story, you're not on the wrong holiday; this story wasn't mislabeled. I just have to post a warning about the Howard-Stark-is-definitely-dead thing so that everything that comes later seems more magical and less well-that-was-a-letdown-y.

Howard Stark was a man of few loves, many disappointments and even more ideas. He had next to no real friends but many funeral attendees and that's really all a billionaire genius can ask for in the afterlife, isn't it? His only real mourner, ironically, was, during Howard's lifetime, ranked first amongst his ideas, disappointments _and _loves. Not that Tony Stark realized any of this, of course as he stood over his father's grave, the only black-clad person in that graveyard who was genuinely sad to see the old bastard go.

Family is a complicated thing.

Howard Stark perished in a car accident two days before his son's seventeenth Christmas. His wife, Maria, succumbed to her injuries and followed him into death the next day. Christmas was never the same for Tony Stark.

Several decades, a mechanized suit of armor, an alien invasion and the advent of the Avengers have done little to change this. Yet.

…

"Tony, for the love of God, if you do not go to _this one event_ I will make you suffer," Pepper Potts, armed with a smartphone, a planner and extreme tenacity stalked down the halls of Stark Tower after her wayward boss.

"It's one charity auction, Pep, the fate of the world does not rest on my attendance or lack thereof."

"It's the _Christmas _charity auction and brunch, Tony!"

"But is the fate of the world involved? No? Then I'm interested," Tony singsonged, tapping her on the nose before ducking into an office.

"Don't joke about that, please, please don't joke about that."

"Whyever not, dear lady disdain?" Tony mock-gasped, plopping into the chair in front of the desk of whatever anonymous employee's office they (mostly Tony) had just inadvertently invaded.

"The last time you joked about something like that the world _literally _almost ended!"

Tony smirked, "The key word there is _almost_," he snagged a peppermint out of the bowl sitting on anonymous-employee's desk, "You don't mind sharing, do you Tom?" Tony asked with a pepper-mint-flavored grin.

Pepper, momentarily distracted, sighed, "Tony, you can't just go taking people's peppermints."

"_Pepper_, I'm surprised at you! That almost sounds like a euphemism for something-" Tony raised his eyebrows teasingly and Pepper almost hit him with her planner.

"_Tony._"

"_Pepper_."

"You're going to the Christmas brunch."

"No, I'm not."

"The profits almost _double _at these events when you make an appearance."

"I've never made an appearance at the Christmas brunch, why stop a good trend?"

"Goddammit, Tony, it's for _charity_!" she sighed, collected herself, straightened her suit jacket, lifted her chin and said, painfully pleasantly, "Tom, please go on a coffee break. Now. Mr. Stark and I need to use this office to _discuss this issue further._"

"Don't leave," Tony mock-whispered, "She's going to beat me to death with her planner."

"Um, I'll just go now…" Tom muttered, scraping together some papers and tossing them haphazardly into his briefcase before darting out the door.

"That cad," Tony muttered, "He took the peppermint bowl."

"Tony, focus."

"But where will I get my minty freshness?"

Pepper huffed, "Tony, it's Christmastime, time for generosity of spirit, sacrifice and kindness. Please go to the brunch auction and help double the funds raised. Take the team and quadruple the funds, I don't care, I just know that you need some good press and the poor need feeding so get a new tux and get your ass to the gala tomorrow morning."

"Pepper, the brunch is _on Christmas day. _The team's not going to go for that."

"Then just you, I don't care at this point."

"Pep," Tony sighed, running a hand down his face. He brought his palms together a moment, leaning his lips against his steepled fingertips, "It will change nothing whether I go or not. There will always be rich people spending money on the _idea_ of poor people and there will always be _real_ poor people reaping scanty benefits from the results. Nothing I do or say or attend will change that. Fucking _Christmastime _will not change that. So I'm sorry, but the spirit of Christmas just isn't in the house. I don't have the brainspace to waste on hopes that will never ever be fulfilled. I'd rather just ignore the holly and the evergreens and move on with my life. Rest assured, your Christmas bonus will be just as generous as ever."

And with that little pronouncement, Tony had stood and swept off in a whirl of bitter intensity.

Pepper hugged her planner to her chest and hung her head with a sigh. It had been worth a shot. She pulled out her smartphone and tapped out a text.

_No luck, you try something. _

…

Tony picked up his phone on the second ring, "Why hello there, cupcake, what are you doing calling the likes of me?"

Rhodey's chuckle crackled through the speakers. He must be somewhere with bad reception. _Bad reception, _what a dirty word, Tony's mind recoiled at the idea. He would have to tweak Rhodey's phone _again. _That man really needed to stop accepting military-issued telephonic equipment, it was painful to experience.

_"I can't call to check up on my best friend?" _Rhodey laughed, but there was tension there. That, combined with the dreadful reception told Tony all he needed to know.

"You're not going to be home for Christmas." It was a statement. Tony wasn't really in a mood for asking questions.

A static-filled pause and then: _"No, I'm not. My mom's going to my sister's house in-"_

"I know where your sister lives, creampuff," Tony said, voice straining around the dumb old nicknames.

_"I'm sorry, man." _

"Don't worry about it," and miraculously, Tony's voice didn't shake, "But you know, merry Christmas and all that, sucks you're stuck in the dessert for it, though. Been there, done that, man, no fun. Sand gets everywhere and the sun, god,-"

_"Dude, you're rambling." _

"I do that, yeah, sometimes, I do that..thing…you know, Rhodey-bear, your reception sounds like shit, it's honestly painful to hear, a sort of vicarious pain you know? From one friend with excellent tech and excellent cell reception to another who is misfortunate enough to rely on the _military _for their cellular communciations…"

This time Rhodey just let him go on for a few minutes before cutting in, _"No, man, no new phones. I don't need the military giving me the stink-eye for introducing Jarvis to their system." _

"Who says my phones come with Jarvis? I'll have you know I selfishly keep my artificially intelligent friends all to myself, thank you. Other people don't appreciate them enough."

_"Sure, whatever you say, man." _

They bickered and bantered for a bit, Tony spinning in slow circles in his office chair, fiddling with things on his desk, doodling new armor designs in the margins of paperwork Pepper needed him to sign _yesterday_ and trying not to think about how sometimes Rhodey would drag him home with him for Christmas and Tony could eat Mrs. Rhodes' pie and pretend she was his mom and that he and Rhodey were real brothers and that he had a real family. That wouldn't happen this year. Again. Just like it hadn't happened last year or the year before that or the year before- well, you get the picture.

Tony hung up with Rhodey and spun another lazy circle in his office chair, staring at the ceiling.

"Fuck Christmas," he snarled to whoever was listening.

…

He got distracted with something because the next thing he knew he was looking up from his computer screen (four hours later and how had _that _happened?) to find himself nearly nose to nose with a mildly amused, moderately annoyed, blue-eyed puppy of a super soldier.

"Gah! Steve!" was really all Tony managed to articulate before flailing his way out of his office chair and onto the floor.

"Oh, god, Tony, sorry about that," Steve apologized, looking appropriately contrite but also a little bit like he might be laughing at him deep, deep down inside and wasn't that just _nice. _

"What, Rogers, _what_?" Tony snarled; clawing his way back onto his feet, glowering at the hand Steve extended to help him up.

"Well, I've been standing here trying to get your attention for the past ten minutes."

Tony snorted, "That's not even a record. I've successfully not noticed people for up to two hours before."

"I'm not sure if that reassures me of my importance or re-emphasizes my insignificance," Steve commented wryly, an amused quirk to his lips and wasn't that just _cute. _

"Neither. Both. Either-or, take your pick," Tony muttered, turning back to his computer, startling when Steve closed his laptop, almost on top of his fingers, "Hey!" Tony yelped.

"Stop ignoring me."

"I'm not ignoring you! See, talking, conversation, not-ignoring!" Tony defended.

"You're trying to ignore me," Steve's voice was patient and truthful and surprisingly gentle considering the fact that Tony was being actively rude towards him in the (slim) hope that the other man might give up and leave.

"Fine, I'm _trying _to ignore you," Tony fidgeted, twitching irritably whenever Steve shifted his new object of fidgety fixation away from him before he could become deeply engrossed, "But you're making that very- give me my Rubiks cube back! –difficult."

Steve raised an eyebrow and did not return the Rubiks cube. "We're having a team Christmas celebration tomorrow, you should come."

Tony groaned and flopped back in his (traitorous) desk chair, slapping hands over his eyes dramatically, "Not more Christmas shit!"

Steve's brow furrowed, his hands beginning to dance over the Rubiks cube, apparently unable to resist the allure of those little multi-colored squares, "What's wrong with Christmas?"

"_Everything!_" Tony huffed, throwing his hands in the air theatrically, "It's loud, it's noisy, it's all about getting shit anyway but there's _still _a million and one sappy movies trying to shove lies down your throat about how it's all about _family _and _love _and whatever. But really, it's just an excuse for the lonely to get drunk, the people with family to resist the urge to murder their annoying relatives, the rich to get richer, the poor to go into debt paying to keep up with a consumerist society and no one to have fun but everyone to _say _they're having fun. THERE IS NO MAGIC TO CHRISTMAS, ROGERS!"

Okay, so that was a bit more vehement than Tony might have liked, but it got the point across… or not. Steve was looking a lot less fazed than Tony had hoped. In fact, he was still standing there, perfect and golden and blue-eyed and all full of hope and Christmas cheer and… fascination with that damn Rubiks cube. Tony would have laughed about that if he wasn't still to tied up in his disgust for Christmas to devote time to needling Steve.

"Tony, that's not Christmas at all."

Tony sighed, shoulders sagging as he rolled forward to prop his elbows against the desk. "Rogers, please don't give me the speech, I've got it memorized, dammit. 'God bless us, everyone' and all that jazz. But please don't waste your time, I'm not going to believe it."

Steve's eyes were so damn gentle and it made Tony's heart hurt a little to look at him so he didn't. "Well, if you change your mind, the team would love to see you. You've been in your workshop or here pretty constantly for the past few months. Please come to the Christmas celebration, you don't need to bring gifts or food or anything. Actually, if you come, please don't bring anything, ok? I want to prove my point about Christmas to you."

Tony did what he did best, he deflected, "Haven't seen me? Your little band of misfit toys lives in my tower. If you had anything pressing you needed to ask me you could always just hop the elevator to the penthouse or to my office here."

"It's not about pressing questions, Tony, it's about wanting to see your teammates, your _friends._"

Tony's mouth curled into a sardonic smile, "Capsicle, people like me don't have friends."

Steve's lips compressed into a thin line, "You could if you wanted to."

Tony snorted, "Rogers, I have work to do, if you're done here, please skedaddle."

Steve turned to leave, realized he was still toying with Tony's Rubiks cube (one of the fancy zillion-sided ones, thank you very much, only the most complicated for Tony Stark's desk), tensed with embarrassment and halfway turned back to return the not-really-a-cube to the desk.

Tony sighed, not looking up from the file he suddenly found very_, very _interesting and said, "Cap, keep the stupid thing. Call it a Christmas gift if it makes you feel better."

He could _feel _Steve's stupid-kind smile, like a wave of warmth and sunlight and puppies and whatever other nice things you can think of. Tony didn't look up to see that mega-watt smile. He didn't care. He really didn't. Nope.

…

Apparently Steve took his comment seriously. The rest of Tony's day was spent warding off the unwanted attention of his teammates as they filed down to his office one by one to behold him in all his grinchy glory and ask him (with varying degrees of niceness) to please come to the team Christmas _thing_.

"Brother Stark, why do you insist upon isolating yourself upon this, the most glorious of Midgardian feast days?" Thor boomed.

"I'm not going to bother running that through my mental Shakespeare-to-real-world translator and just go with my standard response: I don't like Christmas, I don't celebrate, with or without other people."

"Segregating yourself from those who wish you well will only do you harm."

"Good thing I like myself, warts and all."

"I fear this is yet another phrase lost in 'translation'."

"You would fear correctly."

…

Clint came in specifically to make paper airplanes of varying design and efficiency with the sole purpose of testing both them and Tony's patience.

"So why won't you go to our Christmas party?" Clint asked after a half hour of paper-cut silence.

Tony snatched Clint's airplane out of the air and stuck it in his desk drawer just to be spiteful. (Yes, it was childish, yes _he_ was a bit childish, Tony owned it.) "I don't like Christmas. I'm not celebrating Christmas. Now leave before I kill you with a stapler."

Clint snorted and released another airplane "Please, as if you could get anywhere near me with that thing."

Tony hefted the stapler, pondering how aerodynamic it might be under the right circumstances.

…

Bruce, oddly enough, asked nicely.

"Please come to the party."

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"I could Hulk-smash your office?"

"Threats don't work if they have question marks attached to them."

…

Sam almost convinced him to go just by the sheer force of the awkwardness of the conversation.

"So Steve is really set on the whole team celebrating Christmas together. And that includes you."

"Yes, man-I-have-never-met-before, apparently that does."

"You've met me."

"Well yes, but guy-I-barely-know-who-is-feeling-as-awkward-about-this-as-I-do sounded dumb and had too many hyphens in it."

"Fair enough."

…

Natasha and Bucky just stared at him, which admittedly was unnerving and of the lot of them, came the closest to convincing Tony to show up.

Because Natasha was scary (Bucky too, a little bit, but not nearly as much as Natasha).

But hatred of stupid holidays won out over fear of deadly gingers and their one-armed sidekicks.

…

It was no wonder Tony passed out at midnight on top of his keyboard. It had been a long day full of weird people.

…

Tony awoke to the clink of ice in a glass and the scent of cigar smoke drifting through the room. Every muscle in his body tightened convulsively. He knew that smell, he knew that sound. Tony had never smoked cigars, had tried to avoid having acquaintances who did. It was a nasty, disgusting habit that did nothing but make him think of following trails of lingering scent through empty halls, trying to find someone to love him and never succeeding.

"Son, I know you're awake, stop faking."

Tony eased himself into a seated position and eyed the man across the desk from him. "Loki, fuck off, I'm not in the mood to deal with your shape-shifting shit right now."

Not-Howard chuckled and swirled the scotch in his glass, "Well now, I seem to have missed quite a lot the past few decades. Shape-shifting shit? Is that really any way to talk to your father, Anthony?"

Tony curled his lip, "A.) Loki, cut the crap, this isn't funny, B.) Yes, you have missed quite a lot, what with the whole dead-by-drunk-driving-two-days-before-Christmas _thing_, and C.) How would I know how to talk to my father, when he never bothered to talk to me?"

"You're certainly cruder with age," Howard looked irritatingly unruffled.

"I'm not afraid of you anymore, old man, and I was never afraid of Loki, so if it is his royal tricky-ness in there, I'm not exactly bothered by these new shenanigans," Tony rose and walked over to the liquor cabinet (yes, his office had one, shouldn't everyone's?), turning his back to Not-Howard.

"How should I prove my existence to you, Tony?" Howard spun in his chair, tracking Tony's movements.

"By not existing."

"Impeccable logic as usual, son," Howard said sardonically.

"There we are, the same routine, 3, 2, 1 action!" Tony swung around, armed with a gin and tonic and a sarcastic smile.

Howard huffed and set his drink on Tony's desk. It's image fizzed and blurred like a bad cable connection when it came in contact with the polished wood. "I didn't come here to argue with you, son," he said tersely.

"Then why are you here, haunting my subconscious?" Tony took a gulp of his drink, feeling the burn as it slid down his throat.

"You doubt your senses?" Howard arched a brow in that condescending, disdainful way he always did when he was about to make Tony feel very small and very foolish. God_damn_ Tony hated that old man.

"I doubt a lot of things. Fact of life, I've been poisoned, knocked unconscious, and drugged before, sometimes all at once and really it's twelve times more likely that you're just a lucid dream from a bad fight."

"You don't believe in ghosts?"

"No."

"I didn't either."

"Great, we can bond. Forgive me if I don't break out the friendship bracelets."

"ANTHONY EDWARD STARK! For once in your life stop being glib about serious matters!" Howard barked and there was the Howard Tony remembered growing up with.

"Fine, fine, talk, talk." Tony flapped a hand in his general direction, seeing how far he could push the Not-Howard (who Tony was beginning to suspect was more Real-Howard than he was truly comfortable with).

"Stop being an ass."

"Yes, yes, we covered that, get to the good stuff."

"That's the message, boy, stop being an ass. For the love of god don't grow up to be like me."

"Grow up? I'm a little past the growing-up part of life, father dear," Tony snarked.

Howard sighed, steepling his fingers and resting his lips on top of them, the exact same gesture Tony had used to dismiss Pepper earlier and wasn't that painful to see. "Tony, I wasted my life. I wasted every Christmas I ever had and I destroyed every relationship I ever made."

"Do tell, do tell," Tony said sarcastically, "It's not like I was there or anything."

"Don't interrupt, boy," Howard glowered at him but there was something softening his features, something that looked a lot like regret, "You have a chance at being better than I was. Yes, I know you've made it something of your life goal to surpass me, you irreverent whelp," and was that _teasing, _gentle, smiling, light-hearted _teasing? _From _Howard Stark_? What the actual fuck. Tony shook his head, tying to dislodge the uncomfortable encroaching presence of _feelings. _

Howard was still talking. Of course he was. "I want the best for you, boy. I always have although I was absolute _shit _at showing it. You are my greatest-"

"Creation, yeah, I know. My tinker-toy status in your eyes brings me the warm and fuzzies every time."

"I meant no offense by that statement, Tony." And there it was again, the regret. It was almost enough to make Tony feel… _something _towards the old man. He knew what it was like to relate to everything and everyone in mechanical terms rather than human.

Howard sighed, leaning his elbows on his knees, "You're getting a second chance, son. Don't screw this one up. You'll be visited by three spirits. Expect the first one in oh," he glanced at the clock where the digital read out flashed a steady 12:52 am, "Eight minutes. Don't be like me, don't wear my chains."

"Wait, what? No, you did not just Ebeneezer Scrooge me!" Tony snapped, aghast.

"Expect the first ghost in… seven minutes now," Howard's image had begun to fade like the ink from an old photograph.

"Stark! Howard! Dad!" Tony leapt out of his chair, gin and tonic sloshing onto his hand.

"I forgot to tell you…" the color and substance were leeching out of Howard, fading him into mist.

"What the hell?" Tony said a little desperately.

"…I was always…"

"Dad?" Tony's voice hadn't been that small and sad since he was eight years old.

"…proud of…"

And he was gone. There was a moment of stunned silence. Then Tony burst out, "You did not just The-Doctor-and-Rose-on-the-beach me!" He paced the office, muttering irritably for a minute, opening all the windows, welcoming the cold air as it poured it, trying to erase the lingering scent of his father's cigars. He was in the middle of a rant that had somehow segued into planning some sort of new AC system for the Helicarrier when someone softly cleared their throat behind him. Tony turned around, ready to start in on the new interruption when the flash of blue digital numbers spelling out the time cut him short. 1:00 am. His gaze drifted down from the wall clock to see…

What?

"Hello Mr. Stark, I'm here to talk about Christmas Past."

**Author's Note: Happy Holidays everybody! I'm sure this has been done before but I couldn't resist the urge to write an Avengers Christmas Carol (tis the season, am I right?) and who better to play the part of a modern Scrooge than the genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist? This little thing should run about 5 chapters and I'm hoping to finish it by New Years. **

**Well, that's about it for me… thanks for reading and if you have a little bit of time, please let me know what you think. I adore reviews. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Saving My Soul is a Training Exercise?!**

**Author's Note: Happy New Years everyone, sorry this is late. **

There was a moment of dead (no pun intended) silence. Which Tony then broke because Tony was in the habit of breaking things he didn't like.

"What the actual hell, Agent Agent?"

"My name isn't Agent."

"His name isn't Agent."

Tony blinked and focused on the slender young woman standing next to the Coulson stunt-double. "And who are you supposed to be?"

"I'm Skye, I'm kind of in training," she plucked at the numerous bracelets layered on her wrists.

"My soul is a _training exercise_?!" Tony squawked, "And you didn't answer my question, Agent Agent."

The Coulson double sighed, "I don't have time for this, Stark."

"No, no, no, none of that I-am-the-mysterious-suit-man crap, I want an explanation-"

"He doesn't really do explanations," Skye told him in a mock-whisper.

Coulson, or whoever it was, gave her an unimpressed look.

Tony huffed a petulant sigh, "Fine, fine, say whatever you're here to say, Agent."

"Mr. Stark, we're here to talk about Christmas Past…"

"I'm getting a serious déjà vu feeling here," Tony drawled.

Skye cracked a crooked smile.

Coulson gave him a look that would have been quelling had it been on the face on anyone less professional, "Most specifically, Mr. Stark, your past."

"And what does this have to do with anything, Agent?" Tony raised an eyebrow, "I'm a futurist; I don't particularly like to dwell on the past."

"Yeah, it shows," Skye scoffed lightly, sorting through the knickknacks scattered around his office, "Would it kill you to commemorate a few moments? Post some pictures? Your Instagram must suck."

"Skye, please try to focus," Coulson tried to redirect her.

"Hey, my Instagram is very lively, thank you!" Tony shot back indignantly.

"We are not here to discuss the state of your twitter," Coulson interjected.

"Instagram," Tony and Skye corrected him in unison.

"And good, cuz I'm pretty sure it's lame," Skye continued, shrugging off Coulson's Look (capital letters completely necessary) and toying with a Newton's cradle.

"We are here out of concern for your welfare," Coulson overrode her.

"I'm pretty sure the real you and Pepper would agree that I'd benefit more from a good night's sleep than gallivanting around with people who may or may not be real."

"_Gallivanting,_" Skye mused, "Snazzy with your words, Stark."

"Alright then, we can say it's just in your best interest," Coulson gave a bland smile that promised all kinds of pain should Tony continue to remain recalcitrant.

Tony groaned, "That never means fun things for me."

Skye gave him a halfway sympathetic pat on the shoulder, "Me neither, dude."

"I guess there's no avoiding this then?"

"No." Dammit, Coulson was _smirking. _

"Fine," Tony gestured expansively, "Whisk me away on your magical mystery ride."

"Please try not to quote Disney too much, Mr. Stark," Tony could hear a repressed laugh lurking around the edges of Coulson's carefully neutral tone.

The last thing he heard before the room faded out before his eyes was Skye's voice mock-whispering in his ear: "Don't listen to him, I'm pretty sure he knows all the songs from _Tangled._"

…

"Nope," was the first thing Tony said upon arriving at their destination.

"No-negotiable," was the first thing Coulson said.

Skye clicked a picture of the scene with her phone.

"You realize I could sue you for posting my past on Instagram."

"Bet you won't."

"But I _could._"

"But you won't," Skye snapped another picture.

Coulson smiled enigmatically, "Don't worry, you won't sue Skye."

"Why would I be the one worried," Tony attempted to bluster, but he was having a harder and harder time looking away from the images in front of them, "I have a massive stable of lawyers at my disposal. No, really, apparently I'm allowed to say 'stable' in this situation. I told Pepper a phrase like that sounded like a PR disaster waiting to happen, but she claimed it was a colloquial thing..." he trailed off, lost in the picture unfolding in front of his eyes.

"It's okay, Mr. Stark," Coulson said, voice surprisingly gentle, "Don't worry, just watch."

Tony nodded, rendered mute for the first time in what might have been decades.

The Tony in front of them was quiet too. A little boy, small for his age, which couldn't be more than four or maybe a very small five, bustled about before their eyes. He was building something on the floor of his bedroom. The massive space all around him, the white walls devoid of art or color or anything particularly childish, seemed to swallow him up. The bed was an adult one, queen sized. Tony remembered that damn bed. He remembered having to get a stool to help him climb onto it every night. He remembered Howard taking the stool away because Stark men don't need crutches.

There was no child-sized furniture in the room. No real toys. If not for the Captain America poster taped to the door one might have assumed that it was a frequently used guest room. One with immaculate bookshelves filled with heavy, decorative books with words that little Tony could sound out and articulate but not fully understand or appreciate yet. There was even a fireplace in the corner. Tony had hidden there once, when he was eight and home from boarding school for the holidays. His parents had been fighting over something and the fireplace seemed like as good a place as any to be. If you're going to be alone anyway, why not do it in a small, enclosed space? The tight walls almost make it feel like you're being hugged.

Adult Tony let Skye and Coulson herd him over to sit on the window seat and watch the scene unfold. Something squeaked when Tony sat down and he turned around to see he had almost squashed a stuffed rabbit. Just a regular old plushie bunny, nothing special. The kind of thing people give babies when they're out of ideas or don't know the parents well enough to choose a gift more tailored to their needs.

The rabbit was bright red. It probably hadn't sold well. People don't typically like such aggressive colors for their babies. Maybe that's why Howard had let him keep it for so long. Aggression might be bad for babies, but it was healthy for a Stark.

Tony had named the rabbit Edwin. He wondered now if Jarvis, the human version, had known this. Probably. He hoped the old man had been flattered.

The door into the hallway slammed open and both adult Tony and child Tony's heads came up.

"Anthony Edward Stark! What are you _doing_?" Maria, his mother, demanded.

Adult Tony resisted the urge to reach out to her, touch her glittering jewelry, her shining hair.

"I'm building, Mama, like Dad," little Tony told her.

"Well stop that right now, we've got to get ready for the party now. Come along."

"Party? Is it a Christmas party?" Tony asked, following his mother as she paced around the room, gathering his fancy clothes.

"What? Tony, don't follow me, clean that mess up."

"Yes, Mama." Little Tony didn't move.

"It is a Christmas party, for the company," Maria's voice was high and strained as she searched for something. His cufflinks, Adult Tony remembered; she had been so tense about the party that year that she'd accidentally stabbed him with one when she put them on.

"Will there be kids there?" Little Tony asked, "Kids my age?"

"No, probably not," Maria said, distracted, foot tapping nervously as she dug through is drawers, "_Tony, _clean that mess up _now_."

"But it's in a delicate stage of development."

"I don't care, clean. Now."

"I really want to show Dad when I finish it."

She wasn't listening anymore, "I know, clean."

Little Tony cleaned. If by cleaned you mean he shoved the entire project under the bed.

"I'm kinda impressed you didn't break any of it," Skye muttered.

Adult Tony grinned a bit and shrugged, "One of my many skills."

In front of them Maria was hustling the little boy into the suit, lecturing him about being on his best behavior and not speaking unless he was spoken to and for god's sake, don't fiddle with anything. Little Tony was nodding dumbly, eyes wide as he watched Maria flutter around him. Her child dressed, Maria's personal whirlwind wound down, slowing until she was kneeling in front of her son, smoothing his shoulders and lapels for what must have been the hundredth time.

She glanced down to the floor, throat working as she swallowed tightly, hands coming up to the sides of little Tony's face. "You'll be good, won't you _bambino_? This party is very important to your father, I need you to be very good, understand?" Her made-up lips were pressed together and she looked both very young and very old.

"_Si, mama_," Little Tony said quietly.

"_Grazie, bambino_," she kissed his forehead and then she was gone in a puff of perfume and a few direct commands.

Adult Tony and his ghostly companions watched her leave. But little Tony didn't follow her right away. Instead he glanced around the room, spotted the obnoxiously red rabbit sitting on the window seat, and smiled brightly at it.

"I'm going to Dad's Christmas part, Professor Edwin! There'll be all sorts of smart, important people there," there was a pause where little Tony seemed to 'listen' to a response from the rabbit, "You think we should present our invention. But it's not out of testing yet!" another pause, "You're right, Professor, risks must be taken for the good of scientific progress. Tesla didn't wait for testing to be done," a shorter pause, "Yes, professor, we shall present our discoveries to Dad tonight!" and with a dramatic, childish flourish, little Tony crawled under his bed, dragged out his invention and stuck all it's pieces in his pockets.

"Sorry, Professor Edwin," he shrugged at the rabbit, "I must go alone," he walked over to the plush toy, only tripping once in his clunky dress shoes, shook one fuzzy red paw with a grave expression contorting his small features, then whirled out of the room.

"You named your stuffed rabbit 'Professor Edwin'?" Skye raised an eyebrow at adult Tony, "That's really cute."

Tony shifted uncomfortably, resisting the urge to pick up his childhood best friend and do something embarrassing like cuddle it, "I expected all my friends to be highly educated, imaginary or otherwise," he told her stiffly.

Skye picked up the rabbit, waving its arms at Tony, and speaking in a high falsetto, "Hello Tony, I'm Professor Edwin, remember me? We did science together!"

Tony heaved a dramatic sigh, "Do we have to do this? Are we really going to be four years old here?"

Skye continued to play puppet master with the rabbit, "Oh, Tony, you don't remember me? How s_ad. _I remember you!"

Tony huffed, "Give me that, hey, stop, no, Professor Edwin did _not_ talk like that…"

Coulson watched them scuffle and flail for a moment, a small, indulgent smile on his face before he interrupted, "As endearing as this is, Tony, do you remember this Christmas?"

Tony stilled, hands still in the air, in the middle of proving a point to Skye/Edwin. "Yeah," he dropped his hands into his lap, "Yeah, uh, actually it's the first Christmas I really remember."

Coulson's eyes were kind, "And what happened?"

Tony shifted uncomfortably, "Well, Dad didn't like my invention all that much…"

"_Goddammit, Anthony, put that away, you're- Maria!- stop, just stop, Anthony. Maria, take care of this." _

"I embarrassed him in front of his friends. And probably a lot of shareholders."

"_But Dad, it's really neat, just wait, I'll make it work." _

"He was…not happy."

"_Tony, put that crap down and go with- Maria! Where the hell is that woman, I'm very sorry, gentleman, just a little- Tony, __**stop that now**__- domestic issue." _

"My mother was busy, talking to some important people from the hospital board. That was back when she was working. Famous geneticist. Brilliant woman."

"_Ah, Jarvis, take Tony upstairs. __**Now**__." _

"I spent the rest of my Christmas with Jarvis."

The door to little Tony's bedroom burst open and the phantom ballroom scene that had drifted in front of them shuddered and dissolved.

Little Tony was sniffling, held in the arms of a tall, lean man with dark hair fading into silver.

"I'm sorry, Jarivs, I really didn't mean to set a fire, that's not what the machine supposed to do at all."

"There now, Master Tony, I'm sure it's not all that bad."

"Dad was so mad at me, his face was all purple and there was yelling and all those people looked really angry…"

"Oh, now, Master Tony, there should be no crying on Christmas," Jarvis set him down on the edge of that huge bed, paying no heed to either of their rumpled suits as he settled next to the small boy and stroked his hair back from his face.

"But I've been really bad, everyone said so."

"No, you haven't, you did something foolish, but that does not make _you_ bad," Jarvis un-tucked his handkerchief and dabbed at the little boy's eyes.

Little Tony shook his head mutely.

"Now you listen to me young master Stark," Jarvis looked at him very seriously, little Tony shrank back as if afraid of another lecture, "There is nothing in this world that you could do that could make you a bad person in my eyes. Do you understand me, sir?"

Little Tony nodded, resting his head against the butler's arm, curling himself into as small a ball as possible.

There was a moment of silence and then Tony whispered, "I'm really sorry. I just thought it would work."

"I understand, sir. Why don't we go down to the kitchen and see if we can find some Christmas cookies and hot chocolate?"

"Spicy chocolate?"

"If you ask the cook very nicely."

"Can Profes- can my rabbit come?"

"It isn't Christmas without a little red," he picked up the rabbit, looked at it speculatively for a moment, then fished a greed ribbon out of his pocket and tied it around the toy's neck with one brisk motion, "and green," he presented it to little Tony.

The youngest Stark smiled shyly and hugged Professor Edwin to his chest.

Butler and young master slipped out of the room, down to the kitchens.

"Wow, that was incredibly sad," Skye said candidly, "Although I'd like to point out the Edwin-ception when Jarvis picked up the bunny."

Tony shrugged, "Every Christmas after that was pretty much the same," as if on cue the room bent and waved in front of them. Like a nature documentary, Tony watched his young life unfold in sped-up motion. Every Christmas since, alone in his room, inventing, talking to Jarvis when the butler had a few minutes, listening to the bustle of the festivities below him. Sometimes his mother would come in for a few minutes, and listen as he prattled on about whatever he was doing before being whisked away to deal with yet another party-related crisis. But mostly it was just Tony, alone with Professor Edwin (who still wore that sad, drooping green ribbon). And then suddenly a Christmas came when the room was empty.

Tony sighed, "They sent me off to boarding school when I was eight. I came home for the holidays once when I was ten…"

Below them they could hear the sounds of young feet thumping about. With a twitch of Coulson's eyebrow they were on the grand staircase, watching young Tony dump in luggage in the entryway.

"Jarvis? Mom? Where are you?"

They followed him as he ran around the house, searching.

"Hey! Is anyone here?"

They finally reached the kitchen where young Tony whirled around, a stricken look on his face. His eyes alighted on a note stuck under the cookie jar.

"Dearest Master Tony," both adult Tony and his younger counterpart recited, one from memory, the other from the stationary in his hands, "I am so very sorry, but your parents have been called away to a last minute event in Aspen for the week, your parents have requested the presence of myself and the rest of the household at the Aspen property during their stay. An old friend of your father's, Ms. Margret Carter, has agreed to take you in for the duration of their absence. Her car should arrive at the house within a few hours of your arrival home. Words cannot express how I regret to leave you alone during Christmas, sir. Your servant, Edwin Jarvis."

The elder Tony Stark watched, face deceptively impassive as his ten-year-old self crumpled the note, flung it away, kicked the resulting ball of paper disconsolately, sighed, picked it up, smoothed it out, folded it neatly and slid it into the pocket of his school uniform trousers.

A car horn honked outside and, with slumped shoulders and a downturned face, young Tony meandered back to the foyer where he gathered his luggage and trooped outside.

"It wasn't so bad," Tony shrugged, "Aunt Peggy wasn't the best with children, but she paid attention to me and I liked talking to her. We exchanged letters for years."

"But not recently," Coulson observed.

"No. She has a life and I have, you know, worlds to save, companies to keep afloat, stuff to invent, people to impress."

"You are a sad, sad man," Skye summarized.

"You're an intern to a Coulson knock-off, who's sad now?"

Skye pressed her lips together and nodded gravely, "Still you."

"Ooh, burn," Coulson said ironically.

Skye and Tony gave him flat looks.

Coulson shrugged, "I'm allowed to be cool."

Skye and Tony blinked.

Coulson sighed, "Why don't we move on?"

Tony shrugged, "All the other ones were really more of the same. I stayed at school for the rest of them."

Coulson smiled kindly, "I remember another Christmas a little different than this one."

The room blurred around them and suddenly they were in the middle of a very familiar hallway, watching a very familiar sixteen-year old boy crash into a ginger-haired girl. The coffee in her hands exploded, lid flying off and steaming beverage flying everywhere.

"Oh, shit, sorry, sorry, sorry," teen Tony babble at her, waving his hands helplessly, barely noticing the computer parts scattered around him.

"God, could this be a more stereotypical meeting? What screenwriter came of with this shit?" the girl grumbled.

Teen Tony paused a moment and burst out laughing. The girl, who had been dabbing uselessly at her newly caffeinated blouse and trying to clean off her splattered glasses at the same time, glanced up at him. She didn't have far to look, they were about the same height.

"What?" she snapped.

Teenage Tony shrugged and crouched down, digging around in the mess, "I like that, not the 'what', that's pretty typical, but the bit before it, yeah, it was good, umm," he retrieved the smushed coffee cup with a triumphant grin and read the side, "Pepper. Fun name, spicy. But yeah, that first bit, it was good."

She snatched the cup back indignantly, "My name's not Pepper."

"Okay, is it a specific type of pepper?" Teen Tony grinned impishly, "Jalapeño? Habanero? Ghost? Uh… chili? Shit, I'm running out of types of pepper…"

Not-Pepper sighed and crouched down to help him sort out the pile of techno-junk he had dropped. "Stop that, you're getting it more disheveled, let me help you."

Teen Tony rocked back on his heels for a second and watched her with a look of almost wonder on his face as she quickly and effortlessly reordered the stack into better shape than it was before. He blinked when she scooped it all up and dumped it in his arms, patting him on the shoulder before standing up and walking off.

"Oh, and by the way, it was a _Pepper_mint mocha. My name is Virginia."

"Oh, hey, yeah," he shouted after her, "My name's Tony Stark!"

She laughed, "Good to know."

Adult Tony and company suddenly found themselves in the university library one year after the previous scene. Teen Tony was sitting upside down on the couch, chatting with Rhodey on a disgustingly ancient cellphone. "Rhodey-bear, don't hang up on me, _please. _I'll be your best friend. I'll be your best friend again. Just don't hang up, I'm bored and it's Christmas and the campus is shut down so I can't get into the lab and my roommate will literally kill me if I weld anything in the room again. I still contend that those bedsheets had it coming. They definitely deserved to be set on fire. Definitely. It was divine justice via flames if anything. Divine justice, Rhodey, divine fucking justice. What? You don't believe me? And I thought you were a man of faith! Well, you go to church don't you?"

Coulson and company watched as Virginia walked up behind the couch, arms full of books, watching Tony babble with a raised eyebrow and a small smile on her face.

"Tony."

"Gah!" with all the elegance of a drunken moose, he flipped off the couch and landed facedown on the floor.

Virginia snickered a bit.

Teen Tony scrabble for his clunky old cell, "Well, Rhodey my cupcake I'm going to have to let you go, I'm being besieged by hot and spicy redheads. Merry Christmas." He hung up and, still on the floor, propped his chin up on his folded arms, "That was my best friend, Rhodey. He's in Hawaii for Christmas," Tony pulled a face, "But my parents are in France so it's all relative."

"My parents are dead, so it's still relative."

"Thank you, Little Miss Sunshine."

"You asked for it."

Teen Tony scrambled to his feet, "It does seem to be a tradition, us causing each other bodily harm on national holidays."

She smiled, "Just on Christmas, let's not get extravagant."

"But whatever else would I do?"

"Whatever else indeed."

"How have you been?"

"Harassed. You?"

"Drunk. Why harassed?"

"Too young, too pretty, too female. Why drunk?"

"Too smart, too bored, too much of a disappointment. Why too young?"

"I graduated two years early. Why a disappointment?"

"I'm Howard Stark's son. Why graduate early?"

"Wanted to get away from foster parents. Why did you?"

"Graduate early? High school was too boring. Why could you do it?"

"High school was boring."

They grinned at each other.

"Merry Christmas, Tony Stark."

"Merry Christmas, Pepper."

"Still not my name."

Coulson, with adult Tony and Skye in tow, sped through the next few years, a few more chance meetings between Tony and Pepper, a few golden Christmases at Rhodey's house, a funeral where Tony broke into a million pieces for the first time and Obadiah Stane didn't bother to try to put them back together. And then Tony was in charge of his company and Pepper reappeared in his life and just stayed, and then he was in Afghanistan and wasn't that the worst Christmas ever? He was dying and then he wasn't and he almost started a relationship with Pepper but he chickened out and he was alone and he was flying a nuke into space and then he wasn't.

And then there was last year's Christmas and Pepper was in his shop trying to convince him to join the real world.

"Tony, I understand things have been rough since New York, but the team-"

"Do I look like I give a shit?"

"They just want to do a little something for Christmas."

"A little something they can do without me. It's not like I'm Mr. Popularity there anyway."

"Tony, this could be good for you."

"Pepper, no." This Tony turned his face towards Coulson's little time-hopping-troop and the elder Tony was struck by how fucking awful he looked. Dark rings circled his eyes like giant bruises, his lips were chapped, his mouth tight and his hair wild. He looked like a man who hadn't slept for a week and he hadn't, had he? He remembered this Christmas, how the week before had been world-saving chaos day in and day out and one Stark Industries Research and Development crisis after another. How he hadn't been sleeping because every time he closed his eyes he saw caves and empty houses and his parents' graves and the blackness of space and everything he didn't want to see.

It had been a bad week.

"Okay, if you don't want to do anything with the team, why don't you do the charity brunch? It'll be nice."

"No. I never do the brunch."

Pepper sighed, "Tony, I care about you, I just don't want you to be alone on Christmas."

A muscle twitched in his past's face and Tony the elder knew that now would be a moment he would regret. "Pepper, let's cut the crap. You care because I pay you to care. You're only here because I pay so for god's sake start acting like it!" his voice built from calm and collected into a furious roar and when he was finally silent again Pepper's face was completely blank.

The future Tony didn't miss the momentary flash of hurt dancing across her features, even if his younger counterpart did.

"Very well, if that is how you see it, Mr. Stark, I will leave you to it," she told him, voice as clipped and controlled as the click of her heels when she walked out.

A few hours later it was, "Fuck off, Steve, do I look like I need some good old fashioned American spirit?!"

And after that, "Clint, Thor, get out before you break something important and I have to break your faces."

"Natasha… do what you want, but I'm not going to do what you tell me."

"Bruce, can I just be alone now?"

And the universal answer: "If that's what you really want."

Skye sighed, "Coulson, I think he gets the point."

"I agree, let's go home, Stark."

Tony nodded, he felt so damn tired and so damn empty, "Why are you showing me this shit?"

Coulson raised his eyebrows, "These are the shadows of the things that have been, they are what they are; do not blame me."

Tony blinked and looked around; they were back in his office. The clock above the door flashed the date and time. Ten 'til two, present day. He turned around and Coulson and his little sidekick were gone. A sticky note was left on his laptop screen.

_Expect the next ghosts by two am. Unless they got lost. Again. Maybe err on the side of two fifteen. _

Tony groaned and plopped back into his desk chair, driving the heels of his hands into his aching eyes. Not a minute later, voices interrupted his brooding.

"Ooh! Fitz, we're early!"

"No, we're on time, we would be early if you hadn't stopped for chips."

"I was hungry. Don't you-"

"- get hungry-?"

"-start, Fitz, I didn't see you complaining about the sandwiches."

"Another reason we're late,"

"We're not late, we're early."

"On time, maybe, Simmons."

"Don't be difficult."

Tony sighed and removed his hands, rocking forward in his chair to behold the be-sweatered pair before him. "Holy mother of cardigans, who are you two?"

"Oh, ah, hello there Mr. Stark, sir," the girl chirped, "I'm Jemma Simmons and this is-"

"- Leo Fitz, she's biochem-"

"-and he's engineering," she grinned brightly.

"And these are your cute little majors at Specter University?" Tony asked sardonically.

"Oh, no, it's just ah, our areas of interest," Simmons prevaricated.

"And not, you know, our _jobs_," Fitz clarified.

Tony sighed, trying and failing not to be charmed, "Okay, okay, science children, why are you here?"

"Well," Simmons grinned like it was something really great, "We're here about-"

"Christmas Present!" Fitz rushed to finish the sentence before her (or maybe it was with her, Tony couldn't really tell at this point).

"Oh, okay, great," Tony sighed. He really needed to be drunker for this.

**Author's Note: Sorry, this isn't going to be finished as quickly as I wanted, oh well. I'll have it done within the week, fingers crossed. **

**Just a side note, this is a mild AU, most of the movie events are in place but I'm completely disregarding Iron Man 3 because it doesn't fit with the story angle I'm working on here. Pepper's backstory here is completely AU, and I'm adding Sam and Bucky to the Avengers because I can. I'm also fudging a few more things just to make everything work right. **

**If you have a bit of time, I would appreciate a review, I love hearing from people. **


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